


the one sure song

by asweetepilogue



Series: Sugar & Spice Bingo [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapped Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapping, M/M, for love!!!, sacrificing immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetepilogue/pseuds/asweetepilogue
Summary: Jaskier’s mother, the queen of the Fae, has captured the man he’s come to love, Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier goes to her court to get him back.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Sugar & Spice Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100630
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	the one sure song

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: fairytale

“You've given yourself up,” his mother says. He can feel her vague disappointment in the air behind his teeth, the way it grows thin and cold. “You have given him your name.”

“I gave nothing more than I received,” he replies, and he knows it's true even if she thinks it was a rotten trade. He meets Geralt's eyes, kneeling beside the throne on a bed of moss. The clearing around them is quiet, even the whisper of wind through the trees gone silent in the presence of the queen’s judgement. The little grove hums with her magic, every flower and blade of grass turning towards her as if she were the sun. Geralt's face is a blank, the only emotion showing in the tension around his eyes. Confusion, maybe a little betrayal. Fear. Probably not even for himself, but for Jaskier, still, even though everything has gone to shit. He licks his lips, clearly wanting to say something, but a quick glance at the queen apparently makes him rethink the action.

“What is worth the seed of your soul?” the queen asks. Her face is a white mask, betraying almost no emotion. Jaskier knows that she feels - he remembers it too, the slow and glacial shift of mood, subtle as the changing seasons. He cannot imagine it now. Not when his heart pounds with rapid-fire fear and his chest aches with affection for the man seated beside her. “You will age and die now, just as they do,” she continues. 

“Not for many centuries,” he argues. “Maybe a millennia. But I would not wish it another way even if I had only days left to live. I made my choice.”

“Perhaps you will change your mind, with the object of your obsession removed,” she says, dismissive and disinterested. He knows, he knows how it must feel to her, this flight of fancy he's experiencing. Something barely momentary, a decision made when he’s young and reckless that will impact the rest of his existence. She thinks that she's saving him from himself. The frost creeps towards Geralt, climbing over the flowers scattered across the floor and coating them in crystal ice. Geralt flinches away from the cold. 

Jaskier's heart leaps into his throat. “Mother, he belongs to me. I claimed him, he is mine.”

“You can no longer make claims,” she says. Her blue eyes, so similar to his own, regard him coldly, all ice and storm. “Your essence is wilting. You have no more power in this realm than a mortal. Here the witcher is mine, as much as any flower or root or stone.”

Jaskier takes a breath of the chill air. He looks at Geralt again, and Geralt is not fighting his bonds. He isn't trying to escape the slow crawl of the frost towards him, or staring at the queen in horror as she announces her intention to end his life. His fragile, diminutive, beautiful life, full of fear and pain and joy and anger and love. Instead he's looking at Jaskier, just looking at him, and even though Jaskier knows that he's still confused, and hurt, and probably furious, there's only a soft anguish there. He's looking at Jaskier like he loves him, like the worst part of dying will be losing him. And it would be, Jaskier knows. It's the only thing he's really afraid of now.

So he reaches behind him, and he pulls his lute from his back. 

“Queen Una of the Tír na nÓg, if I am to be human in this realm, I will do only as tradition dictates. Allow me to play for you the music of the earthly realm as I have come to know it, and in return I ask for only one gift and safe passage back to the realm of men.”

The frost stops, steady drops of dew slowly drifting upwards off the petals in a reverse rain as the meadow begins to thaw. His mother tilts her head towards him, curious. “Few survive such a trial,” she says, a single note of warning in her tone that vibrates the strings of his lute ever so slightly. Jaskier sets his fingers across the fret to still them, gentle. 

“It is my gift to offer,” Jaskier says. “And yours to accept.”

She cannot refuse. Slowly, her head tilts in a nod. Geralt is staring at him now, eyebrows furrowed again in confusion and concern, but the love is still in his eyes. Jaskier looks back at him again for just a moment, and then he smiles. 

This will be his most magnificent performance yet.

**Author's Note:**

> for the witcher bingo! I'm [asweetprologue](asweetprologue.tumblr.com) on tumblr! I'll be posting more sugar and spice fics there over the next few weeks <3


End file.
